


You're Still Young (That's Your Fault)

by haras_onom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Crying Jack Kline, Cute Jack Kline, Gen, Hurt Jack Kline, Kid Jack Kline, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haras_onom/pseuds/haras_onom
Summary: Alternate Universe where Jack Kline is introduced during season 2.Sam and Dean Winchester already have their hands full with the yellow-eyed demon and Sam's dark destiny, but when the mysterious Jack appears to them, they're dragged into the child's life as well as the rogue angel Castiel's.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This fic was inspired by Tumblr user sammysstupidshirts's posts about Jack Kline in Classic Supernatural. Their blog is literally the funniest thing I've ever seen; follow them for that sweet sweet Sam content.
> 
> The title is from Cat Steven/Yusef's song "Father and Son."

Sam Winchester felt a tingle at the back of his neck. One second, he was slowly drifting off in the passenger seat of the Impala; the next, there was a tug in his mind urging him to _turn around_. His time on the road with Dean — first looking for their father and, now, for the yellow-eyed demon — had taught him that however wary of his psychic abilities he may be, it’d be damn foolish not to listen to them when they arose. So, he turned.

The young man wasn’t sure what he expected to see in the usually-empty backseat, but it certainly wasn’t a boy who was too small to be in grade school yet. Sam’s eyes quickly swept over him. The boy had shaggy golden hair and bright blue eyes that were staring directly at Sam, undaunted. His clothes looked clean and new, if ill-fitting. He looked as if he didn’t have a worry in the world, which Sam imagined was normal for little kids, but probably not for ones who were in a stranger's car. 

“Uh, Dean?” Sam said hesitantly, “We have a stowaway.”

“Sorry?” Dean asked, disbelieving, eyes still on the road.

“Hi there,” the younger Winchester said softly to the boy, “I’m Sam, and this is my brother Dean. What’s your name?”

The child blinked and then turned to look out the window, distracted by the passing trees blurring green. 

“Well, this is just great,” Dean mumbled. He immediately started running scenarios through his head of how the boy got in the car and what the hell they were going to do with him. 

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Sam said, then asked again, “What’s your name?”

“Jack,” he said, looking back at Sam.

“Hey Jack,” Sam smiled gently, “How long have you been here?”

“With you?” Jack asked. Sam nodded. “Just got here.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. They hadn’t stopped the car in hours.

“Christo,” Sam said. 

The word had no effect on the child. He just tilted his head and gave Sam a quizzical look. _So_ , Sam thought, _not a demon, apparently_. He’d already ruled out ghost, as there were no cold spots and the boy seemed very much alive. Werewolf, vampire — most things, really — were also ruled out on the basis that none of them could simply teleport. And none of them have ever been so keen to make small talk, or look four years old. 

“How did you get here?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” Jack said, then repeated, “Just got here.”

“Where are you from? Do you know how we can talk to your mom?”.

“My mom’s in heaven.” Jack’s face did seem to scrunch up into a frown when he said that, although his voice delivered the words like the unshakable truth they were.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. “Our mother died when we were young too. Who’s looking after you?”

“Castiel,” Jack said. After a beat, he added, “That’s my dad. I can call him.”

“Do you know his phone number?”

Jack looked confused, like he didn’t understand what those words meant. Sam fished his own phone out of his pocket and held it up for Jack to see.

“A phone? Like this?”

“I don’t think he has one of those,” Jack said.

“What about your address?” Dean asked.

Once again, Jack looked confused.

The brothers exchanged another look as they saw their options dwindling right before their very eyes.

“Are you from Norfolk?” Dean asked, since that was the last town they’d been in.

“I’m not sure,” the boy answered. “I don’t think so.”

“Alright, where do you _think_ you’re from?”

Jack thought about it very hard. “Um, there was a Pirate Pete’s Jolly Treats.”

Dean shook his head slightly in disbelief. He knew the kid was young, but he also knew that at a young age he could tell someone he was from Lawrence, Kansas. “What’s that, a candy store?”

“No, I think it’s a restaurant,” Sam said. “A chain. Not in the midwest, though. More like… west coast.”

Dean sighed. “Kid, you might just be a long way from home.”

Jack shrugged. Then he yawned.

“I’m going to sleep,” he announced, promptly lying down and closing his eyes. His little body barely took up half of the Impala’s enormous backseat. Within seconds, his surprisingly loud snores filled the car.

“Dean,” Sam whisper-shout.

“I know!” he whisper-shouted back. “Does he set off your spidey-sense?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Sam replied. “Strongly. I don’t know what, but there’s something about him.”

“Yeah, like how he mysteriously appeared in our car,” Dean said roughly. “Do you think this has something to do with the yellow-eyed demon?”

“Maybe,” Sam said. “Do we drop him off at a police station or something?” 

“Well, if he’s a monster of some sort maybe we should take him to Bobby,” Dean said.

Sam considered this. “Maybe. But it’s not like no one’s looking for him. He has a dad.”

“Who might be another monster. And is definitely not as cute and cuddly.”

“Still. We can’t be,” Sam lowered his voice, “kidnappers.”

“Not with that attitude,” Dean winked. He quickly muttered “joking!” after Sam leveled a glare at him. “We’ll talk more at the motel.”

“Fine,” Sam acquiesced, shooting the kid curled up in the backseat another look. _What are we getting ourselves into?_

The three of them made it to the nearest motel within the hour. Jack had slept the whole way, while the Winchesters had silently deliberated about their situation, Sam diligently keeping his eyes on the slumbering boy. At this point, the sky had darkened and the outside air had turned cool. As Dean parked the car, Sam woke Jack up.

“Hey, Jack,” he called softly, but loud enough to cause the boy to stir. “Time to get up, buddy.”

The child sat up slowly and rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. The two men got out of the car and Sam opened the door for Jack, which he crawled out of. Once out of the car, Jack immediately took Sam’s hand in his. Dean pumped his eyebrows up in amusement. The trio went inside to the front desk, booked a room, and got situated in it. Then, the questions for Jack began again.

“We may ask some difficult questions,” Sam started, “If it’s too much, you don’t have to answer them.”

“Okay,” Jack said, “Can I watch TV?”

The child was ambling around the room, picking things up and going through drawers at random, full of curiosity.

“Sorry kid, not right now,” Dean said.

A grumpy expression flooded Jack’s features, though the brothers chose to ignore it at the moment.

“Can you tell me about your mom?” Sam asked.

“She loved me very much. She died when I was born.”

“I’m sorry. What about your dad?” 

“He protects me,” Jack said firmly. He nodded his head to emphasize the words.

“I’m sure he does,” Sam said sincerely, “And I’m sure he’s worried about you. Do you know where he might be?”

“He goes to a lot of places. Do you want me to call him?”

“How will you call him if he doesn’t have a phone?” Dean asked.

“We have another method of communication,” Jack said, the phrase clearly being something he picked up from his dad. The five-syllable word stumbled out of his mouth.

“What’s that mean?”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to talk about it.”

“Aw, it’s okay, kid,” Dean said. “You can trust us.”

Jack mimed sealing up his lips and throwing away the key.

The men sighed.

“You can tell us, Jack. We’re not gonna hurt you,” Sam said. 

Jack put his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Listen, we have to —” Dean started to say, but trailed off as Jack curled in on himself and the lights began to flicker ominously. 

“Hey, it’s okay, buddy,” Sam said soothingly, but the damage was already done.

“No more questions!” Jack declared, yelling in that tiny voice of his. Behind tightly shut eyelids, his irises glowed yellow.

With a final flicker, the lights went out. Every object in the room began to quiver, and, not for the first time that day, the Winchesters were struck with the thought that perhaps they were dealing with something, someone, out of their depth. Dean began to call out to his brother but was silenced by a gust of wind that suddenly appeared, adding to the chaos of the small motel room. The lights flickered once more, and in their quick flash of light, Sam and Dean could see that a new figure had entered the room, eyes glowing blue. 

With a gravelly voice, the figure boomed, “You have my son.”

Dean was right. So far, Jack’s father wasn’t nearly as cute and cuddly and his kid. Although, Dean had begun to rethink his previous description of Jack. Once the figure — Castiel — appeared, the room came to a standstill. Dean saw movement in the darkness, and as his eyes adjusted, he realized that Jack had flung himself at Castiel, clinging to his leg tightly. Dean analyzed the figure during the split second it took to grab his gun. The newcomer looked normal enough, almost like an accountant. Suit and tie, trenchcoat, glowing eyes. The usual get-up. He glared at Sam and Dean, although Dean decided to not take that personally, seeing that they did have his son and, currently, two guns aimed at him.

Castiel brandished a silver blade in one hand, and with the other hand, he reached down to pat Jack on the head awkwardly. His eyes began to dim, and with a snap, all the lights came back on. In full visibility, the absurdity of the situation crossed Dean’s mind. Ghosts, vamps, and demons, he could handle. Weird children and their weird fathers were an entirely new challenge.

“What are you two?” Dean demanded gruffly.

Castiel barely spared him a glance before hiking Jack up to sit against his hip in a move that reminded Dean of his own mother. In any other situation, Dean would think that holding your kid while in a hostile environment was idiotic, but Dean could sense that Castiel had let his guard down because he didn’t see the Winchesters as legitimate threats. He didn’t need any psychic abilities to infer that; it was written all over the man’s demeanor. Castiel looked at Jack expectantly.

“You can’t disappear like that,” Castiel said not unkindly, although his voice didn’t soften a bit as he spoke to the young child. “It’s much too dangerous."

“I didn’t mean to!” Jack whined. “And they aren’t dangerous.”

Dean tried not to let the knowledge that neither member of this father-son duo thought him to be the least bit threatening damage his ego.

“It’s alright,” Castiel hushed the boy, then turned back to Sam and Dean.

“Oh good, I almost thought you’d forgotten about us,” Dean said. 

“Apologies,” Castiel said simply. “We’ll be leaving now.”

“Not before you tell us who you are,” Sam said. 

“Is that so?” Castiel mused. Even with a child in his arms, he managed to exude power and intimidation. 

“If you don’t want to be shot full of lead,” Dean said. “Or silver. Pick your poison.”

“I’m no threat to you, Winchesters,” Castiel said. 

“How do you know our name?” 

“Bye-bye!” Jack waved, and before Dean could blink, they were gone. Simply vanished. Sam and Dean looked at each other in stunned silence. 

“What the hell just happened?”

If Castiel had been asked two days ago what he thought he’d be doing in the near future, he wouldn’t have a definite answer, but it’s likely that all of his guesses would have been obscenely incorrect. Although angels are quite knowledgeable beings, they don’t know destiny beyond what is written. There was no way for Castiel to have known that he’d find himself caring for the very Nephilim child he was tasked to kill. He hadn’t intended to spare the child or its mother. He hadn’t intended to betray heaven in a split-second decision, but he did know that he now intended to help Jack grow to maturity and help the world, whatever that entailed.

In a single day, the boy had grown from newborn to small child, and had many abilities manifest. Including, regrettably, teleportation. The fear that Castiel felt when he’d realized Jack was missing was nearly insurmountable — he was afraid that angels had taken him, or demons. It alarmed Castiel that he was already so attached to Jack, even calling him ‘ _son_ ’ to the Winchesters. 

The Winchesters. _Of all places Jack could go, he went to the Winchesters_ , Castiel grumbled to himself. He figured the boy was naturally and unknowingly drawn to Sam; Lucifer’s child to Lucifer’s vessel. It was clear that Jack innately trusted Sam, and perhaps Dean as well. Castiel wasn’t mad at Jack, he could barely even be frustrated at him, but the angel did sincerely hope that he and the Nephilim could stay under the radar despite their appearance to the two stars of the apocalypse. After all, they were two years ahead of schedule.

“You have to be more careful, Jack,” Castiel said. The two of them were seated on a park bench in a quiet Californian town, where it was still light outside. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, his eyes big and watery. Castiel gave him a pat on the head that he hoped was comforting. He had such little experience with humans, especially children. He’d hardly even interacted with humans in the past millennia. 

“I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“I know,” Jack nodded. “I love you.”

Castiel was infinitely grateful that Kelly Kline was able to teach Jack about love, and other human things, before she passed. Love was a concept that Castiel had thought he’d fully grasped, but now wasn’t so sure. 

“I love you too,” the angel said. 

He found that although he’d never been a father and had hardly been a son, he was starting to see himself and Jack in those positions. When Castiel looked at Jack, he thought of every nasty thing he’d been told about Nephilim and found that he couldn’t believe any of them. He knew he’d begun to dig himself into a hole that got deeper and more dangerous every moment, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. If necessary, Castiel would protect Jack to his last breath. With the angels and demons that were inevitably on their tail 24/7, Castiel hoped that his last breath wasn’t coming anytime soon. For his sake and Jack’s.

After Castiel had picked up his son from Winchester DayCare, Sam and Dean had booked it to Bobby’s, sleep be damned. They made it there before midnight and recounted their tale to Bobby, who had stayed up waiting for them, with Sam having to correct Dean’s assertions every few minutes.

“The kid was _not_ creepy,” Sam insisted. 

“Are you kidding?” Dean said, flabbergasted, “He could’ve starred in a horror movie! Meltdown, lights flashing.”

“And you’re sure he wasn’t a demon?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Saying Christo didn’t do anything, he was too friendly —”

Dean huffed at that. Sam glared and continued.

“ — and his dad’s eyes glowed. Not very demon-like.”

“Eh, demon eyes seem to come in new flavors every year. Black, yellow, white. Why not blue?” 

“No, I agree with Sam,” Bobby said. “Glowing doesn’t sound like a demon.”

“Then what?”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Would it kill you to do some of the thinking yourself, for once?”

Dean smirked. “Don’t know, too scared to try.”

“Well, my thought is gods or demi-gods,” Bobby suggested, moving over to his bookshelf to search.

Sam’s face lit up. “The teleportation, the telekinesis —”

“The pompous attitude,” Dean said. “Alright so, how do we kill them? Wooden stake?”

“Hold on,” Sam interjected. “Jack’s just a kid. And Castiel didn’t hurt us. They seemed like… normal people.”

“If they’re gods, then Jack only _looks_ like a kid. Also, if that’s what you think normal looks like, you’re even more freakish than I thought.”

“Screw you,” Sam spat. “And Jack sure as hell acted like a kid too, Dean.”

“Maybe he’s into roleplay, I don’t know.”

Sam huffed in annoyance. “Or it could be an ancient god and his demi-god son who is actually a child.”

“Potato, tuh-mah-to,” Dean said.

“That isn’t even the saying!” Sam exploded. 

“Boys, boys,” Bobby came between the two brothers, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “You’ve had a long day, why don’t you hit the sack and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” 

“Whatever,” Sam said harshly. 

Dean sent him an angry look that was nothing short of childish.

Bobby glared at them and Sam could almost hear the order of ‘go to your room’ dancing on Bobby’s tongue. He stormed off to the best upstairs guest room, glad to have at least one small victory over Dean, even if it was just the bed with fewer lumps in it.

Bobby turned to Dean, still downstairs with him. “Watch it with your freak comments.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“I hope to God that you just developed an eye tick and that wasn’t you rolling your eyes at me, boy.”

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled, his smirk showing he wasn’t apologetic in the slightest. 

Bobby smiled slightly, so small that anyone else would’ve missed it, and said, “Now, go to bed and we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“Alright,” Dean agreed. “Good night.”

“Night, son.”

Dean stomped up the stairs, feet too heavy and brain too tired to be any quieter. He could practically hear Sam angsting through his bedroom door, but elected to ignore it. It’d just have to be another problem to address in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel had never been on the run before, much less from his own brothers and sisters. He’d never disobeyed orders so directly. He’d never taken care of a child before, never had to worry about food and sleep and hygiene and every other human problem that once seemed so minuscule and was now so essential.

Stealing wasn’t difficult. Not for an angel, anyway. Castiel could pop into any store, take what he needed, and leave before being noticed. He knew that this practice likely drew attention to him, but he spread out his targets geographically enough that it didn’t worry him greatly. What did worry him was the thought that being constantly on the move was not a healthy environment for Jack to be growing up in. Castiel knew that their situation couldn’t be helped — if they stayed in one place long enough, angels or demons could lock onto their location — but it concerned him nonetheless. Even angels had a home.

He’d taken Jack to an abandoned playground in a little Utah town to give the boy a sense of fun and normality. Castiel watched fondly from his stationary seat on one of the swings as Jack swung higher and higher on the other. The Nephilim was happy in that fleeting, naive way that children usually were. Suddenly, the smile on Jack’s face was replaced by a grimace of pain. He put his hands over his ears to block out the assault of noise that had begun to plague him. Castiel knew what was happening instantly.

Angels were coming.

With the exception of the telepathic link between Castiel and Jack, angel radio hurt the boy as it overloaded his senses. Castiel appeared at Jack’s side in a split second, just as the source of the angel chatter materialized. Six angels now stood in front of the father and son, blades brandished.

“Castiel,” one of them said in a voice that thundered, “Give us the Nephilim.”

“No,” Castiel said, pulling out his own blade and placing an arm in front of Jack. “He is under my protection.”

“ _It_ is an abomination,” the lead angel, whose name was Jophiel, snarled. “You know the havoc it will wreak if it is given the chance.”

“Jack is good,” Castiel argued. He could feel Jack shaking behind him. “He’s shown me the future, a good future.”

“It’s deceived you,” Jophiel insisted. “Don’t worry, after we take you back to heaven, you’ll remember where your true loyalties lie.”

“I love my siblings, but I cannot serve a system that would kill an innocent child out of ignorance and fear,” Castiel said.

Jophiel narrowed their eyes. “Then you will die.”

The angel closest to Castiel charged at him but he was able to easily deflect their strike. The next attack was not so easily countered, although Castiel continued to hold his own against the flurry of attacks now coming at him from three angels. As he fought, he glanced repeatedly at Jack, who was being approached by the other celestial beings. Castiel hadn’t yet found the time to properly train the boy in combat, but he knew that Jack must have instinctual safety defenses. He tried to let that thought calm him.

“Cas!” Jack cried. The angel turned to the sound to see the child’s arm being yanked around in a vice-like grip by Jophiel.

Castiel shifted his feet, ready to go to Jack’s aid, giving one of his attackers the opportunity to slice him across the side. The cut was shallow but long. He grunted in surprise and pain, then turned around to stab the offending angel in the heart. Castiel disliked killing his siblings who were only following orders, but he shoved his discomfort and guilt down.

“You can fight them, Jack!” Castiel called, resigning himself to focus on the angels right in front of him before running to defend a Nephilim who was supposed to be all-powerful.

Jack wriggled in Jophiel’s grip, tears starting to flow from his eyes, now glowing yellow. He placed his free hand on Jophiel’s and said in a shaking voice, “Let me go.”

Wordlessly, Jophiel raised his angel blade, poised to strike.

He didn’t get the chance. White light shot out from his eyes, widened from shock, and his mouth, agape in horror. Jophiel’s body fell to the ground, limp, his wings spread out on the ground in ashes. Jack looked on in horror, some of the soot on him. He slowly realized that _he_ had done that. He let out a choked sob and fell to his knees onto the ashy wings.

As that happened, Castiel killed another angel and turned to see Jack, otherwise occupied, with the other two angels closing in on him, Jophiel dead. Castiel decided that Jack was in no condition to defend himself any further, and Castiel couldn’t take on the final angels while being distracted by his worry.

“Jack!” Castiel yelled as he continued to fight, “Get out of here!”

Jack could hardly hear him through his own thoughts and tears, but the message got through. There was only one place Jack felt safe, other than with his father. There was only one other person he trusted, no matter how little he knew him.

Jack flew to Sam Winchester.

Sam had not been having a very good week. The day after he and Dean met Jack and Castiel, the two brothers had been irritable with one another. They spent their time looking through lore in silence — with the occasional comment — and helping Bobby with miscellaneous tasks until the older man told them to grow up and stop acting like petulant children. A few days later, Sam caught wind of a vampire case a few hours out, and the brothers were off. Five decapitations and one close call later, Sam and Dean were back to being a dynamic duo. That, of course, is when shit hit the fan once again.

They were back at Bobby’s, enjoying some ice cold beers, when their favorite supernatural kid made his second surprise appearance. Sam immediately noticed that Jack looked much worse for wear: a thin layer of grime-covered his skin, his eyes were rimmed red with tears, and even from several feet away, Sam could tell the boy was shaking. And, Sam noted this last observation with disbelief, Jack looked older. _Years_ older. He was still a small child, but now Sam would place his age around nine years old, if asked to estimate.

“Hey, kid,” Dean said placatingly, obviously just as shocked as Sam was.

“Castiel’s in trouble,” Jack shouted, hiccuping every other word. “You have to help him!”

“It’s gonna be okay, Jack,” Sam said, springing off the couch and falling to his knees before Jack, so they were eye-level. “What happened?”

“I,” Jack stammered, “I don’t think I can say.”

“That’s not good enough,” Dean said, also getting up from his seat and striding over.

Quicker than either of the Winchesters could process it, Jack reached his hands out to the two of them. In a moment that lasted an eternity yet ended in the blink of an eye, they were no longer in Bobby’s living room.

Dean resisted the urge to hurl his guts out. One second, they were at Bobby’s, and now, they stood — or in Sam’s case, kneeled — in a playground, desolate except for the three figures battling it out only yards in front of the brothers and Jack. Dean recognized Castiel, looking much less sure of himself but just as terrifying as ever. The man, or whatever he was, had a handful of slashes across his body and was bleeding from his mouth. His attackers had their backs to the new arrivals, but Sam, Dean, and Jack were in full view of Castiel, as evidenced by his widened eyes.

“Grab the blades,” he yelled, gesturing to the odd-looking silver knives that were in the hands of the four dead men and women on the ground. Castiel grunted as his words earned him a fist to the face from the man on his left.

Sam and Dean instinctively did as they were told, leaving Jack where he stood. Dean decided to save his question about the burn marks around the cadaver’s bodies for later. The hunters advanced on the trio, Castiel’s order having lost them the element of surprise. The attackers turned to fight Sam and Dean.

This gave Castiel the opportunity to stab one of them from behind. Their eyes and mouth began to glow, then they dropped to the ground, lifeless. That gave Dean all the confirmation he needed that these were, in fact, monsters. He stabbed the other being, with similar results. Then, he turned to Castiel, blade raised.

“Talk,” Dean demanded.

Castiel stared at him stonily.

With a gush of wind, he was gone, although he’d only gone to Jack’s side. The boy had crumpled to the ground, his body heaving with sobs. Castiel knelt beside him and pulled him into his arms. The gesture looked awkward, even from afar. Dean couldn’t hear what he was saying, could only see Castiel’s lips moving, but he could feel some of his resolve to kill, or even hurt, Castiel lessen.

Sam was the first to move towards the father and son, slowly and non-threateningly. He resumed his own kneeling position while giving them space. Dean also couldn’t hear what he was saying. Frustrated, Dean marched over to them himself but stood standing.

“What the hell just happened?” He asked gruffly.

Both Sam and Castiel glared at him.

“I understand that I might… owe you some answers,” Castiel said.

“You think?”

Castiel ignored Dean and plowed on. “But not here. Do you have somewhere we can be safe?”

“Right, like we’d take you to our —”

“Our friend Bobby’s house,” Sam said. “We can go there.”

“Alright,” Castiel said. “Give me your hands.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam yanked his hand and put it on Castiel’s shoulder. They were at Bobby’s before Dean could get a word out.

Castiel immediately stood and went to work, drawing sigils on the walls and windows with his own blood. This was the sight that Bobby walked in on.

“What the —” Bobby began, pulling out his shotgun and taking aim.

Castiel looked at him, unimpressed, before sending the shotgun flying with a flick of his wrist.

“I’m just warding your house so we can’t be seen,” Castiel explained, although that didn’t do much to comfort anyone.

Jack was still curled up on the floor, although his crying had gotten quieter. Sam wrapped him up in his own arms, just as Castiel had done moments before, but the younger Winchester looked much more natural doing it. The man stared at Sam and Jack with a forlorn expression and then finished up his last sigil.

“Where I come from, it’s seen as polite to introduce yourself before you smear blood on someone’s walls,” Bobby said.

“I already know your name, and you already know mine,” Castiel said. His eyes glowed blue, and his wounds were all gone. Even the bloodstains in his suit had disappeared.

“What are you?” Dean asked, blade still raised. He figured that it’d work just as well on Castiel as it did his attackers. “And who were the people attacking you?”

“I am an Angel of the Lord,” Castiel said. “And those were my siblings.”

For a second, the room was silent as everyone processed the claim.

“Bullshit,” Dean said. “There’s no such thing.”

“You have no faith,” Castiel said.

“Of course I don’t, asshat,” Dean spat.

“Dean,” Bobby said in a warning tone.

“Where the hell have you and ‘siblings’ been, huh? Where’s God been?” Dean asked. “The world’s not doing all that good, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“We haven’t directly interfered since Biblical times,” Castiel said. “Except in particular cases. Humanity has a certain destiny in store, we cannot jeopardize it.”

“Bullshit,” Dean said again.

“Why are you here now, then?” Sam asked before Dean could further disrespect the being claiming to be an angel.

Castiel looked at Sam intently. “You’re a devout man. Although tainted.” His eyes shifted to the boy. “I’m here to protect Jack.”

Sam chose to ignore the tainted comment for the time being. “Your siblings, they’re after Jack?”

“Them, as well as demons, yes.”

“Why?” Bobby asked.

Castiel looked conflicted for a moment. “Jack, come here.”

Jack left Sam’s arms and stood behind Castiel. He was still clearly upset, for reasons unknown to the hunters. Sam stood up.

“Jack is a Nephilim,” Castiel said.

“Half-human, half-angel,” Bobby said. “I’ve read about them once.”

“Yes, well, they’re quite powerful. Heaven forbids their creation. The punishment is death to the child and their sire.”

“So now you’re on the run,” Dean said. “Because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

Castiel’s expression was unreadable. “Yes.”

“I’d figure so-called angels would value chastity a little more,” Dean taunted.

“You’re hardly in a position to judge me, boy,” Castiel said.

“So,” Sam quickly interrupted, “Why did Jack come to us? The first time.”

Castiel looked down at Jack, who was still silent, and answered for him. “The two of you are… connected, in a sense.”

“Me and Jack?” Sam asked for clarification. Castiel nodded. “Because of the yellow-eyed demon?”

“Largely, no.”

“Care to elaborate?” Bobby asked.

“No.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “C’mon, you’re already a fugitive to ‘heaven,’ might as well spill some company secrets.”

“No,” Castiel said resolutely. “Heaven has some… misguided principals. But I won’t betray them for your peace of mind.”

“Interesting standards you have there, feathers,” Dean quipped.

“Believe what you want to about me,” Castiel said. “I’ve given you the answers I felt I owed you; Jack and I will be on our way. You won’t be seeing us again.”

“Castiel,” Jack whined, the first word he’d said since he whooshed the Winchesters to the playground. It was quiet and full of anguish.

“Thank you for looking after Jack,” Castiel said. “Although I’m sure your goodwill for him was purely conditional. And thank you for aiding me in that fight, although I’m sure you were there against your will and, obviously, you’d just as soon slit my throat.”

“Wait,” Sam said. “We can help you.”

“No we can’t,” Dean cut in, the same time Bobby said, “We can?”

Castiel just stared at Sam. “Who says I need your help?”

“Just a hunch,” Sam said.

The alleged angel regarded Sam carefully. “I’ll call on you if I need anything.”

And with that, Castiel and Jack were gone without a trace.


	3. Chapter 3

Ninety percent of the time, Jack didn’t know what to think or how to feel about his situation. His ‘situation’ being his entire life thus far. Jack wasn’t very knowledgeable about how humans or angels spent the early days or years of their lives, but he was certain that he was a strong outlier for both groups. Firstly, he was semi-conscious in the womb — Jack was certain that fetuses don’t usually communicate with their mother’s or with their would-be-assassin turned father figure. Then, he was born to a mother who died almost instantly. She never got to hold him, or see his face. But he had Castiel, at least. Jack knew that Castiel wasn’t his real father; he knew that the angel who had sired him had burning red eyes and a slippery whisper. Jack quickly learned not to ask about his real father.

Castiel clothed him, fed him. Told him who he was, who Jack was. Promised to protect him.  _ From who? _ Jack had asked. Castiel gave a vague answer about heaven and hell. The next day, Jack met the Winchesters. He didn’t mean to, but he was glad he did. It was nice to talk to someone who wasn’t Castiel. The angel had a lot of interesting stories, although frankly, he was not especially skilled in speaking to children. His humor was particularly dry. Jack spent the next week flying from location to location with Castiel. Then, then, then. 

Then he killed an angel with a single touch.

Jack knew that the angels were there to kill him. He tried to understand that it was him or them, him or them, but he simply couldn’t rationalize it in a way that absolved him. He couldn’t stop crying and he couldn’t stop shaking, not until he and Castiel were long gone from the playground and the Winchesters.

“Jack,” Castiel said gently. He’d flown them to dock hanging over a lake. It was quiet and peaceful, save for Jack’s sniffles. They sat on the edge of the dock, feet dangling over the water. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” Jack insisted.

“Maybe so,” Castiel conceded, “But it will be.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re upset about the angel you killed?” Castiel asked.

Jack nodded.

“I’m upset about the ones I killed, too. They were my siblings, and they were following orders. They were misguided, of course, but they were just doing what they knew to.”

“This isn’t helping,” Jack told him. Sometimes Castiel needed to be told whether his words were having the intended effect.

“Just wait,” Castiel said. “They were following orders, which means they were never going to stop. I tried to reason with them and they wouldn’t listen. I wish it all could’ve happened differently, but it didn’t and we can’t change that. We just have to move on.”

“But heaven won’t stop either, right?” Jack asked. “They’ll just send more.”

“Well, yes, but —”

“How many angels are you going to kill for me?” Jack demanded to know. “I’m not worth it, I’m just as destructive as they think I am.”

“Jack,” Castiel said sternly. “You  _ are _ worth it.”

“Because of some promise of paradise I made before I was even born?” Jack asked. “How do you know that that’ll happen?”

“I don’t,” Castiel admitted. “And even if you never create paradise, I’ll… I’ll love you just the same.” Castiel sighed. “I’ve always known — felt — love. I love humanity. I love my siblings. I love my father. But all that is a general love. I don’t know every human or angel intimately. I’ve never even met my father. But I know  _ you _ . And I love you.”

Jack’s eyes had begun to well up again, and Castiel feared he’d said the wrong thing entirely.

“I’m bad,” is all Jack had to say.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because, because I killed that angel,” Jack stammered.

“Am I bad?” Castiel asked.

“No!”

“I killed four angels just now. That doesn’t make me bad, by your reasoning?”

“You were protecting me,” Jack argued.

“And you were protecting yourself,” Castiel said. “Self-preservation isn’t evil.”

Jack didn’t have a response, for a moment. “My father is Lucifer.”

“His father is God,” Castiel said. “There doesn’t seem to be much of a correlation between goodness and lineage, as I see it.”

Jack was quiet once more, sedated by Castiel’s logical rebuttals. “I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again.”

Castiel broke eye contact and looked to the sky, the heavens. “I will help you honor that wish to the best of my ability, but I can’t promise that you’ll never be forced into it.”

Jack stared out at the tranquil, murky waters.

“We can begin working on non-lethal defenses,” Castiel suggested. “Tomorrow.”

“Really?” Jack asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Yes. But for right now,” Castiel took in Jack’s disheveled appearance. He was still dusty from smiting Jophiel. “Would you like to go swimming? To clean off.”

Jack’s eyes really lit up, then. 

So, on the ninth day of Jack’s life, he learned to swim with the only father that mattered to him. It wasn’t necessary, since Castiel could clean Jack and his clothes with his powers, but it was pleasant. Knowing that he could dry them both off with a single thought, Castiel hadn’t even bothered to take off his outer layers or his shoes, and Jack followed suit. Any passerby would think them ridiculous, but there were no passersby that day. Only an Angel of the Lord, and his son.

“That went well,” Bobby said, moving to retrieve the shotgun that was flung out of his hands.

“What the hell was that?” Dean yelled at Sam. “Bringing a so-called angel to Bobby’s, offering to help him.”

“He knows about me, Dean,” Sam said. “He might be our best bet at getting yellow-eyes.”

“If he knows anything about yellow-eyes, which I’m not sure he does, it’s because the two of them go out for coffee on Sundays,” Dean said. “And don’t act like that was a strategic move; you just feel bad for Jack.”

“I do feel bad for Jack,” Sam confirmed. “I also recognize that we were just standing in a room with the two most powerful beings we’ve encountered, besides maybe yellow-eyes. It’d be stupid not to use that.”

“Don’t tell me you believe the angel crap, Sammy.”

“You know I believe in angels.”

“Okay, sure, but  _ him _ ?”

“Why not?” Bobby asked, taking pictures of the sigils on his phone. “What else could he be?”

Dean didn’t have an answer, so he settled for an annoyed huff.

“You said that you don’t believe in angels because you’ve never seen them,” Sam said. “Well, we just saw eight. Or, seven and a Nephilim.”

“Sure, let’s say they were angels,” Dean said. “They weren’t very peace and love. Hunting down a dad and his kid.”

“ _ You _ want to hunt the same dad and kid!” Sam said.

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, and shrugged. “Touché. But angels should be held to a higher standard than my sorry ass.”

“So angels aren’t how pop culture makes them out to be. Doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”

“You know what?” Bobby said. “I’m tired of you two bickering. We’ll look into angel lore and see if this Castiel matches. Nephilim lore too.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other warily and then nodded their assent to Bobby.

Sam took a sip from his coffee cup, still warm from the cheap machine. He was sitting at the dining table, waiting for Jess to get home from her part-time job. They had plans to go watch the new Star Wars movie at the theater. Sam was something of a Star Wars geek; Jess thought it was fun to see him get so excited over lightsabers and wookies and whatnot. Sam felt a presence enter the room, but when he looked up, it wasn’t Jess.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said, standing in the doorway, wearing his usual get-up. Sam briefly wondered if the man wore anything else.

“I see no reason to,” Castiel answered.

“You can hear my thoughts?”

“Generally, no. But since we’re in your head, it comes quite naturally.”

Sam stared for a moment. “This is a dream.”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” Sam hummed. “Should’ve realized. I haven’t lived in Palo Alto in over a year.”

_ Jess hasn’t been alive for over a year  _ was what he really meant, but couldn’t bring himself to say. He’s sure Castiel heard anyway.

“So, what brings you to my dream?” Sam asked. “Assuming you’re actually here and not a figment of my imagination.”

“I figured this was the most secure way to speak to you,” Castiel responded. “About your offer.”

“Okay, shoot.”

Castiel squinted his eyes minutely.

“It means go ahead,” Sam explained. “And have a seat while you’re at it.” He paused, “That means sit down.”

“I understand that one,” Castiel said gruffly, but not unkindly, and did as was suggested. He looked Sam in the eyes with unwavering intent. “I worry that I can’t provide for Jack’s human needs. I’m quite rusty on the workings of society. The last time I was here was 1901, and that was for a remarkably short time.”

“Oh, wow,” Sam said. “So angels really don’t come to earth anymore?”

“Not unless it’s heaven’s will.”

“So what do you do, most of the time?”

“I’m not here to ‘spill company secrets,’ as your brother said.”

“Right, sorry,” Sam said. “I’m just excited to meet a, uh, an angel. So, what are you having trouble with, specifically?”

“Well, Jack is sleeping on a park bench right now,” Castiel said. “I have no money so I steal everything. We’re constantly on the move. It’s all fine for me, but my understanding is that this isn’t how children should be raised.”

“It’s not,” Sam told him. “Although that kinda sounds like my childhood.” Seeing the look Castiel gave him, Sam added, “The stealing and always being on the road bit. But I turned out pretty alright.”

Sam proceeded to tell Castiel about credit card scams and motels and — hopefully soon — setting him and Jack up with a semi-permanent safe house that was warded. Once he finished his spiel there was a moment of silence.

“Is Jack feeling better?” Sam asked. “He was pretty upset.”

“He’s better,” Castiel said, “Thank you for helping him, and helping me.”

“Of course,” Sam said. “So, what you said about me and Jack being connected —”

“I cannot tell you more. As I said before, I’m not one to toy with fate.”

“Can you tell me what yellow-eyes wants with me and the other special children?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Castiel, please,” Sam said. “People are going to get hurt.”

“Yes,” the angel said. “But things will be right, eventually. Have faith, Sam Winchester.”

Sam sighed deeply and resigned himself to not argue, to settle in for the long-game. Seeing the end of the conversation, Castiel stood from his seat and Sam followed suit. 

“Talk to me whenever,” Sam said. “And I’m not above babysitting, if you need me to.”

He stuck his hand out for Castiel to shake. The angel stared at it, uncertain of what to do. Sam shook it minutely before Castiel finally understood, placing his hand in Sam’s and sandwiching Sam’s hand with his other palm.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done,” Castiel said. “If you ever need me, pray to me and I’ll come.”

“Oh, wow,” Sam said for the second time in the dream. He couldn’t believe he traded credit card scam tricks for a guardian angel.

“I’ll leave you to your dream,” Castiel said, and with that, disappeared.

Sam sat back down at the table, took a sip of his still-hot coffee, and waited for Jess.


End file.
